Build-A-Date
by grumkinsnark
Summary: "You work at Build-A-Bear and I'm a single parent of a six-year-old who adores Build-A-Bear" AU


_Prompt: "You work at Build-A-Bear and I'm a single parent of a six-year-old who adores Build-A-Bear" AU_

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 **Build-A-Date**

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"Mama, please?" Mason asks, big green eyes staring up at her. "Tracy has a Build-A-Bear, _and_ Nathan, _and_ Marnie. Just one?"

 _They're too expensive_ , Annie wants to say.

But she looks at his innocent face, the one that is almost old enough to realize that _Not today, honey_ really means _If I buy this for you, we may not make rent_ , and somehow she finds herself saying, "All right, Mase. All right, I'll buy you one. Just nothing too big, okay?"

He squeals, throwing himself into her arms, hugging her so tightly it squeezes the breath from her lungs. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ ," he says, jumping down from her embrace and grabbing her hand. He yanks her towards the brightly-lit store full of stuffed toys, causing her to shoot apologetic glances at the mall patrons she inadvertently runs into.

Mason's eyes go wide when they enter, sounds of all kinds whirring around them. Racks and racks of displays offer clothes and shoes and accessories to go with the bears, yet more show all the different kinds of bears—and even other animals—available for purchase, and a giant machine shoots white stuffing into the animal's frame. Mason takes his time gauging all the different options, until finally he points at a medium brown bear, a pleased grin on his face.

"Look, Mama, it's the same color as your hair!" he exclaims, holding it up to her face for reference.

She laughs indulgently, plucking the corresponding empty frame from a container below the display. They make their way over to the line for the stuffing machine, behind a mother with her six children and a wedding ring set that could no doubt pay at least a full year of rent, not to mention each of her kids in pristine name-brand outfits. Annie tries not to feel inadequate next to them, and glances down at her son, who has eyes for nothing but his soon-to-be stuffed friend.

Finally, they reach they reach second in line after the Loaded McRichersons and Mason readies himself to hand the bear to the attendant. Annie, conversely, is struck silent by said attendant, who is very possibly the handsomest man she's ever seen. She is not usually one for being caught off-guard by a pretty face, but something about him is different from anyone else. He's just this side of _too_ pretty, all bronze hair and eyes the color of the ocean— _God_ she's a sap—and a smile that makes her blush despite the fact that it's not even directed at her.

The woman, it seems, has taken even more of an interest in the man, simpering beneath bright red lipstick and chortling as if he'd told some clever joke instead of just made smalltalk with the children. She makes some excuse to touch him, a light brush of his forearm, and his forced smile becomes even more strained. Having done her dues in retail, Annie recognizes the expression well.

"Pardon me," she interrupts, tapping the woman's shoulder. "It looks like your kids all have their bears done, and we're kind of in a hurry. Would you mind moving along?"

The woman scoffs, appearing like she'd very much like to slap Annie, until her youngest child tugs on her tailored blazer. "Mom, come on."

Thankfully, she obeys, though not without casting Annie a scathing glare and another winning leer towards the attendant. Annie rolls her eyes and steps forward, internally enjoying Mason's appreciative laughing. "Thanks for that," the attendant says gratefully. "I'm almost at the end of my shift and wasn't sure how much longer my politeness could hold out."

"No problem," Annie replies, decidedly _not_ , in _any_ way, noticing the dimples that dent his cheeks or the tan of his skin. "We've got just the one bear for you."

He obliges readily, taking the animal from Mason and instructing him to spin a wheel as if Mason were the one filling up the stuffing. "Would you like to add a voice box?" the attendant asks. "You can put in up to ten seconds of audio."

"Um, sure." He reaches behind him for a stack of that very item, instructing her on how to tape it. For lack of a better phrase, she looks at her son with a fond smile and records, "I love you, Mason. Now and forever."

He flushes in embarrassment, but doesn't complain. The attendant puts the voice box in with the stuffing, and for the final touch has Mason insert a small fabric heart before sewing up the back. Mason clutches the newly-minted bear to his chest, politely thanking the attendant and bouncing over to a nearby computer station to name it.

"I'm Finnick, by the way," the attendant tells her. Absurdly, there's a veil of uncertainty, almost shyness, that passes over his face.

"Hmm?" she says, temporarily distracted by making sure Mason doesn't leave her sight. "Oh, I'm Annie. That's my son, Mason."

"Cute kid," the attendant—Finnick—remarks. "Single mom?"

Annie stares at him, perplexed. Could he possibly be _flirting_ with her? No, surely not. "Yeah. Since a few months before Mason was born," she answers. Immediately flushing, she hastens to add, "Gosh, you didn't need to know that. Oversharing!"

"I asked," he says with a chuckle.

Someone behind her clears their throat, and Annie realizes she had essentially done just what that other woman had. Sure, Finnick didn't seem to mind, but then, maybe Annie just hadn't picked up on any clues. "Sorry, I'm overstaying my welcome," she says. "Thank you for your help."

He opens his mouth to reply, but Annie rushes off before she can hear him give some company line, or whatever it is he had planned. It had been so long since any man had had even _remote_ interest in her—she's been on a handful of dates, all of whom blanched when she mentioned she has a six-year-old child—that she'd gotten caught up in the moment. She goes over to the console where Mason stands.

"He liked you, Mama," he says, sounding much too sure of himself for a first grader.

"Hush, you," Annie mutters. "What'd you name your bear?"

"Katniss," he replies. "Auntie seems so sad sometimes when she comes to visit, I thought she might like a teddy bear named after her."

Annie presses a kiss to her son's curls, marveling at how lovely her child is growing to be, especially considering who his father was. Katniss had been struck with intermittent bouts of depression, ever since her sister had died in a tragic car accident a few years ago. "That's very thoughtful of you, sweetheart," she says. "I'm sure Aunt Katniss will love it."

Mason leads her up to the cashier to pay, Annie putting on a front that the price isn't any object. The cashier asks if she'd like to buy any clothes to go with the bear, which Annie begins to refuse until a voice cuts her off.

"How about these?" Annie whirls to see Finnick walking up beside Mason, holding a tiny hanger in his hands. "Mason, was it? I noticed your shirt, and thought you might like this. I'm a big fishing guy, too."

Mason _had_ worn a relevant shirt that day, some gag gift from Peeta: on the front, "Why do clownfish have so many friends?" and on the back, "Because they make 'reel' good jokes!" Mason had found it utterly hilarious, and had worn it every day for a week after he got it. She looks at Finnick with raised eyebrows, taking in the hanger. On it is a bear clothing set, consisting of a fishing vest, pants, boots, and a hat, with a little plastic rod accompanying it. It's adorable, but also an extra cost.

"That's nice of you to bring it over, but we'll have to pass," Annie says reluctantly, trying not to notice how Mason's face falls.

Finnick laughs. "No, I mean I'm buying this for you," he says, handing it to the cashier. "Laura, would you mind adding this on?"

Laura fixes him with a calculating stare, appraising him for a minute before answering, "Sure thing, Finnick."

"Oh, no, please. You don't have to do that. We couldn't possibly accept." Annie objects feebly.

Unfortunately, her words fall on deaf ears, Laura ringing up the purchase and putting it all in a box shaped like a house and handing it to Mason. "Have a 'beary' great day, you two!"

Mason, giddy as all can be, thanks the cashier and immediately steps to the side to look inside the box, as if he hadn't just gotten the bear. For her part, Annie pulls Finnick out of earshot, annoyed. "Listen, that was nice of you, but I'm really not one for pity."

"Well, I admit, it wasn't entirely selfless," Finnick says, beaming. "I _was_ hoping I might get your number in return."

Annie stares at him, dumbfounded. "I— _what_?"

"Your number," he repeats, slightly deflated. "Only if you want, of course. I don't mean to be _that guy_."

"B-But, I have a…" she flounders, gesturing vaguely towards Mason.

"Kid?" he fills in. "So? I love kids."

Annie knows she must look exactly like the fish on Mason's shirt, but her brain is having trouble connecting the dots. "Oh. Well…"

"Here," Finnick says, pulling out a pen from his jeans pocket. He takes her hand in his, scrawling ten digits on her palm. "This is mine. If you don't call, that's fine. But I'd very much like to take you to dinner, Annie."

He gives her one last grin before walking away, leaving her stranded in the middle of the store to process. Mason bounds up to her, with another irritatingly self-satisfied expression on his face. " _See_ , Mama?" he snickers. "I _told_ you he likes you."

Annie ruffles his hair, pulling him out of the building and thinking she's just found her new favorite store.


End file.
